


No Time Like the Present

by kenzimone



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Eve kicks butt, F/M, Stone is besotted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3314348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzimone/pseuds/kenzimone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stone is an idiot and Eve is inconvenienced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Time Like the Present

**Author's Note:**

> Because I love writing kickass!Eve (and a besotted Stone). I originally had the canon AU!Jake/Eve in mind for this, but as I wrote it it kind of turned into a possible far-off-in-the-future post- _[Tangent to Our Own](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3200603)_ thing, so it'll work fine in whichever universe you prefer. Unbeta'd.

The National Museum of Somalia is located in the Cultural Center of Mogadishu, alongside the National Library and the National Theater. Standing four stories tall, the building was closed to the public in the early '90s with the start of the civil war and was significantly damaged in the chaotic years that followed; subsequent looting robbed it of most of its collections, and it only recently reopened its doors a little more than two decades after the start of the fighting.

Even now the nighttime security at the museum turns out to be pretty much nonexistent; the main hall of the third floor is large and bathed in shadows, a modest collection of old coins and traditional artwork on display alongside ancient weaponry and pottery items. They strike a stark contrast against the exquisitely engraved white marble walls and pillars of the room, the unused space between the exhibitions serving as nothing but a reminder of the long-lost treasures the building once housed.

Eve stands watch in the dim light, her eyes peering into the shadows of the hallway and her ears straining against the silence as Stone snoops through the small back room containing what's left of the museum archives. Bookshelves line the windowless walls, shelves overflowing with binders and boxes, and Stone systematically works his way through them, emptying their contents onto one of the nearby desks and checking them against the binders' inventory lists. Eve shushes him whenever he makes too much noise, but if there are any night watchmen on the payroll none of them seem to have made it a habit of venturing this deep into the museum during their rounds.

Before they left the Library Stone had warned her that the tapestry they are looking for might have been lost in the looting – could very well have been mixed in with other artifacts, entire collections carried off into the night. It's a long shot, coming here, hoping that the tapestry has simply been mislabeled and misplaced, but Eve's putting her faith in the strange luck of Librarians. And if it turns out that she's wrong they'll just have to widen their search. Kenyan markets, Stone had said. Maybe a private collection in the Gulf States.

It's like looking for a needle in a haystack, trying to locate a small, innocuous-looking tapestry that – for all they know – vanished into thin air more than two decades ago.

Eve sighs and leans back against the door frame, listening to Stone shuffle through papers behind her; she had offered to help him in his search early on, but his only reply had been to hold up an inventory list written entirely in Somali and give her a pointed look.

Frustration had been rolling off him in waves – still is – and she remembers the way his face had fallen as they'd passed through the main hall of the third floor; there's no doubt in her mind that he knows exactly the historic value of what was lost when the building was gutted, priceless pieces of antiquity sold as mere trinkets to tourists at local markets in neighboring countries.

Now, Stone returns the last binder to its place on the shelf and gives a defeated sigh.

“It's not here,” he says, taking the pencil he'd been using and putting it back in the top drawer of the desk and gently closing it – the sound still echoes unnaturally loud in the empty building, and Eve leans out into the hallway and strains her ears against the silence.

“You sure?” she whispers once she's satisfied that they're alone and no one's coming to investigate.

Stone turns the desk light off and moves toward her. “I didn't see it on display,” he says. “And it's not in any of the boxes or listed in any of the inventories. All the old records are gone, so there's no way of telling if it was  _ever_ here.”

“But the fact that the curse is localized implies it.” It's dark enough that Eve can barely make out his nod even when he's standing right next to her. “Alright. Let's get out of here.”

They'd entered through one of the supply closets on the other side of the building. Eve doesn't know if it's the three hours she just spent staring into the shadows, but she's on edge, pausing to look around each corner as they make their way toward their exit; Stone indulges her like he always does, patiently letting her set the pace and obediently stopping whenever she throws an arm out across his chest – her gut instinct has saved them far too many times for him to start to question it now.

As luck has it Eve's wariness once again turns out to be justified, and they find themselves facing a group of Serpent Brotherhood goons in the hallway leading to the closet; half a dozen, tall men obliviously walking toward them, dressed entirely in black and with scarves pulled up to cover their lower faces and mask their features.

Eve catches Stone's eye and tilts her head, and once she's sure he understands the message she throws herself around the corner. The men are caught off guard, and the split second of confused surprise that results from her sudden appearance gives her enough time to step forward and ram her shoulder into the chest of the goon closest to her. He bends over, winded, and she fells him with a strike to the temple; as he drops so does she, extending her leg and swinging around to sweep another one off his feet, and his head makes a sharp cracking sound as it makes impact with the shiny marble floor.

By now the rest of them have sprung into action, and in the corner of her eye she can see Stone deck a third man with a well placed punch only to have another surprise him from behind and slug him right across the face. Stone's thrown off balance and goes down hard, nearly splitting his head open on one of the nearby display cases before he manages to twist away; he ends up on the floor, lip split and bleeding as he watches Eve knee the offending goon in the groin before knocking him out with a hit to the back of the head.

“M'rr m',” Stone says from behind the hand covering his mouth, his words muffled.

“What?” Eve eyes the remaining men and makes a mental note to check Stone's pupils later in case he  did strike his head on the way down after all.

The next goon throws himself at her, and she adopts a defensive stance and grabs the front of his jacket as he barrels into her, stepping to the side and letting his momentum carry them both into one of the solid stone pillars lining the hallway; she impacts shoulder first but the goon leads with his head, and while he tries to regain his bearings Eve turns and grabs a handful of hair at the base of his skull and slams his forehead into the engraved pillar.

The hit is enough to knock him unconscious and she steps back and lets gravity take over; he lands in a heap on the floor next to Stone, who removes his hand from his face and grins up at her, teeth stained with blood, looking like he's having the time of his life watching her dispatch the Brotherhood goons.

“Marry me,” he says.

Eve stares down at him in disbelief. “ _Now_ ? Are you— You're seriously picking _this_ moment to ask me  that?!”

Another man – the last one still standing – rushes her, and she turns and kicks out, planting her boot square in his chest. He stumbles back with a wheeze, tripping over one of his accomplices and landing on his behind, and then apparently decides that enough is enough because he turns and attempts to belly crawl away.

Eve sighs and pulls her gun out, disengaging the safety.

“Don't even think about it,” she says, and the goon freezes in place before slowly lowering his head to the marble floor and pathetically raising his hands into the air.

Behind her Eve can hear Stone grunt as he gets to his feet. He looks annoyingly satisfied as he walks over to her, using the sleeve of his shirt to dab at his split lip.

Eve scowls at him. “Here,” she says, pushing the gun into his hands, and spends the next five minutes lining the goons up in a neat row on the floor before hogtying them all together using their own shoe laces.

Standing and surveying the line of now-docile, black clad wannabe ninjas, she can't help but feel a bit pleased herself as she takes in her handiwork. The adrenaline is still rushing through her and she feels good – hadn't realized how much she'd missed a good fight – not that she'd ever give Stone the satisfaction of knowing that.

He's still smirking at her from the other side of the row of bodies, the front of his shirt ruined with blood and his hair in complete disarray. There's a bruise spreading across his right cheekbone along with the promise of a black eye, and Eve steps over the goons and reaches out to pull him into a hard kiss.

Stone jerks in surprise, wincing against the pressure, but happily returns the gesture; he tastes bitter, like blood and old dust, and she can feel the cold lines of her gun bite into the small of her back as he wraps his arms around her and tries to tug her closer.

“You're an idiot,” she hisses when they finally draw back for breath.

Stone nudges his nose against the side of her neck. “'S that a yes?”

Eve narrows her eyes and steps back to grab his face, tilting it up and peering at his eyes. His pupils appear normal, and she carefully runs a thumb over his split bottom lip. It's still bleeding – a thin, sluggish flow – but if it hurts Stone doesn't show it, doesn't even a flinch as he leans into her touch, his blue gaze steady and intent as he looks up at her.

“You're an  _idiot_ ,” she repeats.

The corner of Stone's mouth twitches – the beginnings of another smug smile. “See, I  _know_ that's a ye—”

Eve draws him up for another kiss, but only because it's the best way she knows to shut him up.

 


End file.
